


Damned If You Do

by LaurenCrabtree



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Cunnilingus, Dark!Margot, Death Threats, F/F, Knifeplay, Mentions of Alana and Margot’s Son, canon-divergent, speech restriction, threats of mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 05:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18631702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurenCrabtree/pseuds/LaurenCrabtree
Summary: Margot’s intentions for Alana were far less loving than she let on: get her heir and then use Alana as a personal fucktoy. Exacting revenge on her brother gave her a taste for manipulation and mutilation, and she’s not about to stop.





	Damned If You Do

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo; an acquaintance requested Marlana + Made a Slave. If you want to request a fic or just chat, you can find me on Tumblr at @laurencrabtree or on Twitter at @LaurenTheCorgi.

Alana couldn’t breathe.

 

Well, she could breathe; she just couldn’t breathe  _ properly. _ The groggy haze of just waking up made it unclear why, but it felt like her neck was being constricted; constricted by something cold and metallic and unforgiving. Reaching up to her neck, she did indeed feel metal, and the cold against her hand was enough to fully wake her up.  _ What was going on? _

 

Alana’s heart began to race. She thought that Hannibal and Mason were both gone from her life, that she and Margot has finally managed to find a safe and stable life. Evidently, she was wrong. Glancing around her, she felt at least a little relieved to see that she was still in her room. _At least it was familiar territory._ Alana attempted to sit up and was met with almost immediate resistance at the neck and the unsurprising sound of rattling chains; a quick movement of her arms and legs had the same result. As she tried in vain to slip her right hand out of the cuff that held it, the door softly clicked open and an all-too-familiar face stepped through.

 

Standing over her was Margot, an eerily calm smile on her face and a knife in her hand.

 

“Good morning.” Her voice was even, a direct contrast to Alana’s increasingly erratic breathing.  _ She had trusted Margot. _ Alana opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by the knife’s blade pressing lightly against her lips.

 

“Shhhhh… You’ve served your purpose; I think it’s best if I do all the talking.” Margot slowly withdrew the knife, setting it down on the bedside table. Alana looked into her wife’s eyes for any sign of sympathy, and while Margot’s eyes were not cold, they weren’t caring, either—she looked at Alana the way that one would look at a treasured toy, at an inanimate object that was loved but couldn’t love back. For a moment, Alana wondered what purpose Margot was referring to, but then it hit her.  _ Margot had her heir now. _

 

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me thus far, and getting to know you was certainly fun,” Margot continued, “But now that our son has been born, I don’t have time for any more emotion.” As she spoke, Margot began to remove her skirt, and Alana felt a lump forming in her throat.

 

“But, Margot, you—” she tried to protest, and was met this time with the knife at her throat.

 

“Speak again and your blood will soak these sheets.” Margot’s voice was still even, but was now tinged with a new firmness. “Your job from now on isn’t to talk; it’s to get me off. I know you might not want to do that, so I’ll make you a deal. You can get out of it for a week, but I’ll take a part of you in exchange for that time.” Tears began to sting at Alana’s eyes, and Margot slowly traced the knife away from her throat and down her chest.

 

“It’ll only be something small; say, an ear, a finger, half your tongue,” she continued, “although if you’re stubborn for too long, we might need to move closer to this area.” The knife’s tip ghosted down Alana’s abdomen, sending a chill up her spine. “But that won’t be a problem for me at all. I’ll be honest, after I took Mason’s life, I realized just why Dr. Lecter liked killing so much.”

 

Alana gulped as Margot straddled her, setting the knife down once again.

 

“But I want to make it last, so it’s your choice. Don’t say a word; just lick if you want to keep all of your body and lay your head back down if you don’t.”

 

Alana weighed the options in her head, and it didn’t take long for her to decide that she couldn’t risk getting physically hurt if she wanted any chance of escaping. Reluctantly, she buried her face between Margot’s legs and did exactly what she had done a thousand times before.

 

Unlike those times, though, there was no enjoyment—only fear. Margot’s moans brought with them not compersion but relief; as she got closer to her climax, Alana got closer to getting this over with. When Margot finally did come, it brought a sort of respite that Alana hadn’t felt before. She was safe for now—probably.

 

“Good,” Margot ran her hand through Alana’s hair. Before she could say any more, though, there was a knock at the door and Margot calmly but quickly walked back to answer it.

 

“I forgot to mention,” she said as she did so, “I’m not the only person you’ll be servicing from now on.” The door opened once more; behind it was another face that Alana thought she had trusted. As she looked Bedelia Du Maurier in the eyes with a new sense of dread, she heard Margot’s voice in her ear. “Be careful; she’s killed more people than I.”


End file.
